


White Room

by Cards_Slash



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No Plot/Plotless, Not to be taken seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18724810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cards_Slash/pseuds/Cards_Slash
Summary: Tony wakes up naked in a white room with drugged Steve Rogers and all he's trying to do is get out before Steve's impressive self control fails and they can't escape because they're too busy having sex.





	White Room

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically crack. Enjoy

# TONY

Tony woke up naked; completely fucking naked and hot and not alone in a bright white room. The floors and the ceiling and the walls were shimmering in the harsh fluorescent light. The glare was as overwhelming as the headache throbbing through his skull, and almost as obnoxious as the smell, the gathering awareness of this perfectly lewd stink filling up the room. 

“Oh shit,” he whispered to himself, one hand rubbing the hot-red-lump on his head and the other pushing against the bright-white-floor to lift himself off of it. His skin was damp from sweat and his mouth was dry as a desert. There was nothing overtly sexy about waking up naked in a toasty room, but the smell surrounding him was the thick-and-inviting smell of an alpha didn’t seem to understand that. Tony was prepared to find just about anything except the site of Steve Rogers sitting with his back against the opposite wall, looking slapped pink with shock, staring at his own erect cock like he’d never seen it before. “Oh,” Tony said, and he tried, he really, really _tried_ to not stare so openly but it was a humbling sight regardless of the circumstances, “hello.”

Steve looked at him with wide-eyes and no real sense of shame, as if the fact that he was naked and _painfully_ aroused was completely irrelevant to the situation. “I think they drugged me,” was said the way a kid (if one could forgive the comparison given the state of nudity) might offer excuses over missing homework. Steve’s hands were hovering over his thighs, caught in some kind of struggle between taking the matter in hand and covering himself up. 

“I don’t know, maybe high gloss paint really does it for you,” Tony said. He sat on his ass and considered the distinctly weird sensation of the _warm_ floor and how the sweat was dripping down his neck. He didn’t appear to have been drugged, or if he were, it didn’t appear to have worked. That left him an uncomfortable witness to Steve’s dilemma and an unfortunately sober perfect partner to Steve’s natural alpha inclinations. “Ok, let’s think about this.”

“Tony,” Steve said almost entirely to his dick, “I’m really trying but if you don’t stop talking I’m going to have to make you shut up.” 

Right. Good. Well, whatever was setting Rogers off didn’t look pleasant and Tony didn’t want to give him any more temptation than he already had. One of them needed to be perfectly rational and if the bad guy of the week thought they were being smart by taking out the brawns, they had obviously underestimated how much the brains figured into the Avengers success. Tony struggled up to his feet and spent a minute adjusting to the renewed throb in his head. He did a great job ignoring how Steve looked at him with slack-jawed lust, assessing Tony’s whole body for suitability. 

That was the funny bit, maybe. Some asshole with a sadistic streak had decided to take the only omega in the group (Tony) and put him in a room with the most righteous alpha (Steve). Maybe he just wanted to know what would happen, or maybe he had an idea that Steve was stronger and faster and Tony was perfectly breakable with no armor to protect him.

Who the fuck knew, maybe the guy just got his rocks off to non consensual sex. 

(No, it wouldn’t come to that. If Tony had to take this one for the good of the world, he was willing to let Steve do whatever he needed to do. It was just, until it got to that point, he was willing to bet his ass on Steve’s obnoxious self-control.)

Steve, on the other hand, had decided that the only appropriate response to the present situation was to wrap his fist around his dick and start tugging. That would have been fine in a private setting, or even in Tony’s wandering day dreams, but being six feet away from Captain America jerking off was somewhat of a different experience in the flesh. Tony turned around to look at him, stared at how wholly concentrated Steve was on the task at hand, and hissed:

“ _Really_ , Rogers?”

“Shut up,” Steve snapped back.

It wasn’t actually possible to pretend like it wasn’t happening, there was no way to cover up the fleshy sounds of Steve taking care of his own business, but Tony turned his back to the problem and concentrated on figuring out how to get out of the room. The walls were painted so smooth it was hard to figure out where the door was, and even once he’d located it (by knocking his way across every wall except the one where Steve was) he couldn’t figure out how to open it. There were no hinges, and no knob, and no real indication of how the door opened at all. 

There also wasn’t any obvious camera watching the action (so to speak).

Tony was stuck. “We’re going to figure this out,” he said.

Steve made a noise like he’d been stabbed in the spleen, and gasped, “this isn’t working,” as if he too had been working on anything but wringing an orgasm out of his poor dick. His hands fell away, and he spent a moment with his eyes closed and his shoulders heaving as he gulped down the warm-warm air. “Ok,” he said, “what if you just, just the one time, what if you just let me fuck you? And then we can get out of here?”

The offer was made with the utmost sense of fairness. The words were spoken with supreme rationality. Steve was bargaining for the pizza toppings he wanted but he’d accidentally asked Tony to offer up his ass, and nobody was more unprepared to respond than Tony. There was Steve opening his eyes, there he was focusing on Tony’s naked body, there he was licking sweat off his lip. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, “it’s just, I can’t seem to think of anything else. It’s not me,” he assured him.

“Let’s call that our last resort, okay?” Tony said. 

“Maybe we should set a time limit for your other ideas, you know? Maybe ten minutes? If you can’t figure it out in ten minutes we go with the last resort plan.” Steve seemed to be conflicted between _knowing_ every word he said was basically ridiculous and being utterly sincere when he said them. “Ten minutes works for me. I can make it ten minutes.”

Thank God captain big dick could last another ten minutes. Tony cleared his throat, turned his body so his back was against a wall and his ass wasn’t quite so appealing available. “Ok, but what if we gave me all the time I needed to come up with an idea and you keep all that,” he motioned at Steve’s whole body, “to yourself?”

Steve’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes were squeezed closed, his hands were coiled up into fists and pushing down against his thighs. His dick was angry red and attention grabbing, but he nodded his head regardless. “Right,” he agreed, “right. That makes sense.”

“Whatever they gave you, it could be communicable—you could pass it along through,” Tony was trying not to think of it but it was hard to ignore considering the present situation, “body fluids.”

“Ok, what if I didn’t cum in you?” Steve opened his eyes, “I can do that, I can just—not do that.”

Tony could have lived his entire life without being on the receiving end of such an offer. He could have died happy having never heard Captain America say the word cum and yet, here he was, watching Steve look at him with such sweet expectation. He’d made an attractive, reasonable offer based on compromise and Tony was just shaking his head, “sorry, Cap, that’s a myth. Can’t risk it.”

“Ok,” Steve said. And like he had used up every ounce of his willpower, his hands were wrapped around his dick again. He was jerking his dick like he was trying to keep breathing and Tony couldn’t stand to watch the ruthlessness in the motion so he turned his attention back to the room.

It was _hot_ , and there didn’t appear to be any vents. The walls and the floor were heated, and the door was cool. (That was an oddity.) The door seemed to be solid, there was no hollow ring when he knocked his knuckles against it. He was half-through-figuring out where the control panel for the door was (since he preferred to think there was one) when Steve gave up jerking off again.

“Fuck,” he shouted into the room. His hands smacked the floor and he was on his feet in a split second. For a man with no blood in his brain, he managed to move with significant grace and more than a little unsettling amount of speed. He was right behind Tony, hands reaching out and gripping his hips and then he—he just _stopped_. 

“I’m getting some mixed signals here, Steven,” Tony whispered.

“I just,” Steve said against the back of his head, all low and promising, “I just really, really want to fuck you. I think it would be really good.” Of course, he did, he was in rut, fucking anything and anyone was just about the best idea that he’d ever had. It didn’t matter if it was Tony or not, as long as it was a living body. “Did you figure it out?”

“No,” Tony said, “kind of distracted at the moment.”

“What if I just,” Steve dipped closer, his impressive, heavy dick slid across Tony’s lower back, “just put it in, I won’t do anything, just a little, I think it would help.” 

There were a lot of things that Tony didn’t know about Steve but he couldn’t have imagined this particular vein of things he never knew he never knew. Listening to Cap whisper his proposals was the filthiest thing that Tony had ever heard. He’d been propositioned by plenty of alphas and now and again he’d even taken them up on the offer, but he had never heard a man more rational and irrational at the same time. He’d never heard anything as lewd as Gods most Righteous Man begging to get his dick in. “Not yet, Cap. Come, I promise, as soon as we get out of here. It’ll be worth the wait, come on man.”

Steve’s hands tightened, and Tony’s heart surged faster in his chest, and then Steve stepped back. “Ok,” he said, “ok. Ten minutes. It’ll be fine.”

It was going to take longer to figure this out than ten minutes. Tony was as good as any man as compartmentalizing but having to keep one eye on the overwrought alpha deep in a rut made concentrating on the task on hand almost possible. He was working out the exact placement of the door hinges at the same time Steve was staring at him with slack-mouthed intensity, making absolutely no attempt to be useful.

The quiet lasted a brief, brief sixty nine seconds before Steve was licking his lips and rolling closer to Tony whispering, “I mean, is it really a myth? Everyone did it when I was a kid--Bucky told me about it. If you didn’t want to get someone pregnant you just, you know, you just pulled out when you felt it coming.”

“I just don’t think you’re capable of that level of planning at the moment,” Tony said. “Look, if you want this,” and he motioned at his naked body, (as inviting as it was, what with how it was alive and conveniently available), “we have to get this door open. Stop using your last brain cells to figure out how to get your dick _in_ me and help me figure out how to get _out_ of the room.”

Steve scoffed, his lips curled up in an ugly snarl and he reached up to shove Tony’s shoulder so his back slapped against the wall. It wasn’t sudden, or surprising, when Steve invited himself up against him, but it wasn’t ideal either. “I’m trying,” was growled in counterpoint to how little effort it seemed to take for Steve to grind his dick up against Tony’s stomach. “Usually I burn off drugs faster than this. I feel like--I feel like-- God,” he pushed his hands against the wall and threw himself backward. 

For a breath, there was the Steve Rogers that everyone knew and loved, one hand against his chest and the other hanging in the air between his shoulder and his dick, composing himself into something like genuine regret. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I _am_ trying. Obviously I respect your,” his fingers spun in a flourish to encompass all of Tony’s body, “boundaries.” (That wasn’t what he meant, his voice was dropping again, his eyes were settling on all the lovely omega attributes Tony had, like his hips and his ass and how available he was.) “How can I help?”

The odds of getting out of his room without getting fucked (and therefore, most _likey_ infected with whatever they’d used on Steve) were getting worse. Tony was fresh out of better ideas so he slid sideways along the wall and smacked his knuckles against a likely spot on the wall and said, “punch this,” because why _not_.

Steve nodded and tightened his hands, he strode up like they were in full gear and not completely fucking naked, and punched the wall so hard the resounding crack echoed back-and-forth across the glossy room. Steam rolled out of the hole and blood ran down Steve’s fist. There were blood spots on the floor and _thankfully_ the shiny metal edge of a control box showing through the hole. “But,” Steve said like he hadn’t noticed his broken hand, “I can fuck you soon. You promised.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, “just as soon as we’re out of here.” He reached into the wall and yanked on the box, it didn’t so much as jiggle. “Do me a favor, get this,” he said as his fingers slipped across the slick metal. 

“How soon?” Steve asked. He reached into the wall, wrapped his fingers around the box and yanked so hard it made all of the muscles up and down his arm and back stand out in effort. The wall whined, the electrical components wheezed, and there was the control box, missing some of the wires that hadn’t been quick enough to move, blinking and sputtering and spitting sparks. 

Tony closed his eyes because he couldn’t _exactly_ yell at Steve for doing exactly what he was told. But-- “Less soon,” he said when he opened his eyes now, “than it would have been a minute ago.”

The room lights went out, there was the distant sound of an alarm screaming and red lights warbling through the new hole that Steve Rogers had put straight through the wall. Tony slid lower on the wall and looked at the locking mechanism that held the door in place. Steve was a strong guy on a good day, but apparently enraged (and engorged) with a full-tilt rut he was even more of a fantastic beast. If finesse couldn’t solve the problem, maybe brute force would work. 

“Ok, so bad guys are coming.”

“Not before me,” Steve said.

Tony didn’t have _time_ to be distracted by the stupidity of that statement, but he couldn’t stop the sudden resurgence of the throbbing headache he had only just managed to forget. Rather than address it, he stuck his arm into the hole through the wall and felt around for the knob on the other side of the door. 

“Tony,” Steve repeated, “not before me, right?”

“Rogers!” Tony shouted over the sound of approaching footsteps. His fingers were sweat-damp and slipping across the door frame catching nothing at all but smooth-surfaces, “if you don’t shut up I’m going to bend over and let them all take a turn and make you _watch_.”

Steve drew in a breath like a bull, and his shoulders bunched up just as big, he was turning red as a beet, and infused with a fresh rage (the sort that only the type of guys who fully expected to get laid only to be denied by changeable omega types could manage) kicked the door so hard it bent the frame outward. He backed up with a hiss of effort, cock bobbing up and down as he moved, and kicked it again just as hard. Tony had enough time to pull his arm back out of the hole as the entire door, frame and all, screamed in defeat as it slid out of place. 

“Ok,” he said to nobody (not even himself), “well, that works.” He might have said something else, something about a plan and how men in situations like this usually had guns, but Steve’s bloody fist wrapped around his wrist and yanked him through the now open door. “We need a plan,” Tony said. The floor outside of the room was _freezing_ in comparison. The hallways were dark, the lights were dim, and the sound of approaching guards was deafening. “And pants,” Tony added.

“You don’t need pants,” Steve snapped back. He took a second to draw in a breath and then took off at a jog down the hallway on the left. There was a perfectly normal door about twenty feet down and Steve shoved his shoulder into it hard enough to splinter the frame and pulled Tony in after him. The room was filled with dust and debris, the sort of leftover office furniture that nobody could decide to discard. “We’re out,” he said.

We’re _out_ , he said.

We’re _out_.

“I’m sorry,” Tony said, “do you not hear the alarm?” He motioned at the swung-open, partially splintered door and the revolving red light that was interrupting this otherwise ridiculous moment. “We are not having--”

Steve grabbed his hand and dragged him forward, and honestly, all other things aside, Tony couldn’t imagine how much control it was taking Steve to not lay claim to what he wanted. Alphas in ruts were so unpredictable that sixty-five percent of the money spent on medical innovation was devoted to controlling it. More money was wasted on helping alphas control their dicks than was spent on curing cancer, AIDS, diabetes and heart disease combined. “Shut up and jerk me off,” Steve said. 

Tony had one eye on the open door and no eyes on the dick in his hands. It didn’t seem to matter, as ready as Steve was to orgasm, he could have tickled a feather on him and accomplished the goal. All that mattered was Steve being able to shove his face into the crook of Tony’s neck and dig his hands into Tony’s ass, and absorb the smell and the nearest of an omega. He groaned like he was dying when he orgasmed and his cum was hot-and-excessive, splashing everywhere from Tony’s gut to his hands to the floor between their feet. “Wow, ok, we need to talk about this later, Steve.”

“Oh shit,” Steve mumbled. His hands tightened (and that was no good) and his body wobbled, and for a minute, there was no telling if a half-ass handjob had made things better or worse. It seemed to have forced Rogers into some kind of a hard restart, but the system had gone down and wasn’t starting up again. He was just standing there, dripping, as if they weren’t in mortal peril.

“Ok,” Tony said, “you did good, buddy, now we have to go. Eyes on the prize, Rogers, we get out of here you can have the whole deal.”

That seemed to wake him up, dick-first, into something like consciousness. “I’m sorry about this Tony,” he said. Whether he meant the disaster of sticky white cum he’d left all over them both, or the overt sexual advances, or how he was going to fuck Tony as soon as they were a few feet from danger, there was no telling. “Come on.”

“I still need pants,” Tony said as he was dragged back out of the room. The hallway curved after about twenty feet, they reached another intersection. Tony was just trying to catch his breath, taking a moment to be unhappy about the sticky drying nonsense on his hands, and how he had split open his knuckles somehow, while Steve was drawing in lungfuls of air like a barbaric prehistoric cave-beast scenting the wind to determine the location of predators. Tony had just enough time to think:

(Oh fuck)

About the nature of open wounds and body fluids, and then he was being pulled left with no warning. “Rogers!” he shouted as he stumbled and was only saved from landing on his face by the steel-tight grip Steve had on his forearm. “Give a man some warning.”

“Make up your mind,” Steve snapped back, “you want out, you want pants--what are you doing doing back there? Sleeping?” He took another sharp right and slammed into a solid metal door that (shockingly) didn’t give under the immense impact. It groaned in its frame and held its place. Steve was sneering at it in outrage, working up his beet-red head of steam but Tony reached an arm around him to turn the knob and push the door in. “Shut up,” Steve said before any words could be said.

The stairs were as generic as a b-rated movie, there was no character to them, no indication of whether they would benefit from going up or down. Inside the stairwell, there was no red-flashing lights and no alarms screaming. It was noiseless, and cold, and intimidating in the way horror movies were. Steve was sniffing the wind (as if it existed) again, and then he pulled them straight forward and _down_. 

Tony was going to die tragically, long before his time, not at the hands of a supervillain, or alien forces, not because of the shrapnel threatening his heart, but because an alpha in a rut dragged him down a flight of stairs at high speed. “Whoa!” he shouted as his free hand caught one of the rungs of the stair railing, “slow down! Some of us aren’t super soldiers.”

Steve stopped dead, two steps lower than Tony, with no sense of recognition involving the words. His dick, which hadn’t even managed to get soft to start with, had regained it’s full strength. (God, what was it even like, running around with a fully hard dick like that? It couldn’t be pleasant. If Steve could feel anything except the urge to mate, he might have slowed down just to spare himself.) His face was caught up in full disapproval, as if Tony had just wiped his ass with the American flag. “ _Fine_ ,” just meant that Steve wasn’t willing to jeopardize his sure thing. He started jogging down the steps again and Tony followed behind him at a reasonable pace.

There was a little plaque on the wall by the door, it announced itself to be ‘SUB FLOOR 2’ and listed its contents as laundry, utility and storage. Tony slapped his hand against the door frame as Steve disappeared around the corner. He had one hand on the door to hold it open, staring at the words like they’d make more sense if he kept reading them. 

Steve came back with his feet slapping across the concrete, looking impatient to have gotten backtracked. 

“You brought us _farther underground_?” Tony demanded. He closed his eyes and opened them again, and refocused on Steve’s perfectly impatient face, “did you know we were underground?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “No bad guys here.”

“ _Yet_ ,” Tony hissed at him. “We have to go _up_ to get _out_ , Steven. If you knew we were downstairs why would you--” He was working up to some kind of real objection but Steve lifted his arm and there, dangling from his bloody fist, was an assortment of ugly-green pants. Ugly green scrub pants, the exact sort that doctors and nurses wore in operating rooms. They were even labelled with the name of the hospital. “Pants were not as important as escaping,” Tony said. 

“Can we please fuck now?” Steve asked. He shoved the pants at Tony as if the question and the offering of clothing weren’t completely opposites. He sounded annoyed and why not? He was running out of patience, it had been long over the ten minutes he promised he could manage and God alone knew how much longer he could handle. “It’ll be really quick.”

“As enticing as that sounds,” Tony started.

“There’s a room back here,” Steve said. It was a nice gesture for a man who had kicked a door out of place and grabbed Tony by the hand to demand he attend to business. It was even reasonable (for a drugged, rut-addled alpha sort of point of view) because Steve had provided clothing and shelter and now he should be rewarded. “Look Tony, I’m really trying, and I want to say that I can handle it but there was this pipe that I just ran past and--”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Tony said. He didn’t need to know how the story ended because his brain was busy filling in all the details anyway. He could imagine it in perfect technicolor because he was staring at an eyeful of naked Steve Rogers. A man shouldn’t be reduced to sexual fantasies of fucking random pipes in the wall-- “If you pass this shit onto me you better stick around and get me through it,” he said. 

No doctor in the world was too worried about an omega begging to get dicked, who had a reason to worry about everyone’s fantasy? There wasn’t a great waste of money thrown at the ‘issue’ but that didn’t mean that spending twenty four hours in a sweaty fever desperately trying to shove your own fist up your ass was _pleasant_. Tony didn’t have super metabolism, he wasn’t going to rapidly cycle through heat the way Steve was running through his rut. 

“I swear, I promise, I’ll do whatever--come on, the room’s back here. Do you want the room? There’s a room?” Every word that Steve said was another little inch of space his body ate up. He was crowding Tony against the wall, offering him more space and the privacy of walls. There was a certain kind of sense in retreating to a room, but there was expediency in staying right where they were. If Steve offered a repeat of his earlier performance it would take longer to get to the room than they would spend in it. 

“Let me turn around, Cap,” Tony said. He arched his back off the wall he’d been pushed up against and tossed the pants to the side. “This better be as quick as you say it’ll be.” He braced his arms on the wall, let Steve pull his hips until they were situated like he wanted them to be (there was no point in trying to make this a mutually pleasurable situation) and waited. And--

Waited?

“Are you a virgin? It’s not rocket science, you just stick it in.”

Steve was breathing so hard his body was shuddering, and he looked shamefaced and horrified to be caught there with his slobbering dick bobbing in the space between them. All of his offers and pleading and dirty promises were lost because he’d stalled out at the final act. “You don’t really want me to,” he said. 

Oh for Christ’s sake. Tony didn’t have the time (or energy, or interest really) in convincing Steve that he was completely willing to get fucked for the thirty six seconds it would take Steve to orgasm if it meant they could get out of this situation alive. It wouldn’t even be that big of an imposition, it might even be a shoddy imitation of a fond sexy dream he’d had once or twice. Words couldn’t have penetrated Steve’s deep-set morals, they wouldn’t have made it past his painfully aroused dick. Tony huffed a sigh and turned around, Steve’s hands made a brief effort to hold him still and gave almost immediately. Tony’s knees were old, and didn’t appreciate concrete, and he wasn’t necessarily thrilled to be putting his mouth on the monster cock that was still dribbling in anticipation, but if it would get them _to safety_ he was willing.

“Oh god,” Steve gasped when he realized. “Really?”

Said the man who had assured Tony that he would only stick it in a little.

“Please stop talking,” Tony said. 

Thirty six seconds, as it turned out, was a gross overestimation. His mouth had barely closed around Steve’s throbbing dick before the man was orgasming, with a gut-wrenching sort of noise that sounded more pained than pleased, and his hands patting at but not gripping any part of Tony they could reach. All the muscles in his thighs and stomach were spasming from relief, and he was flooding the general area with his cum _again_. 

Tony spit and rubbed the slick, hot mess off his face. “Is this normal for you? This can’t be normal, not even for you.” He grabbed the pants before he stood up, and took a minute to sort out which pants worked best for him. Steve was sagging back against the stair rails, experiencing some divine moment of peace. “I’m just checking, when we do get out, you are going to be able to stick your dick in me? You’ve made a lot of promises, and I just need to know if you’re going to follow through.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “I can do that. Sure. You smell good, Tony. Did you always smell good?”

No. Five or ten minutes ago Tony had smelled like hot sweat and glossy paint. He’d rather not be in the second basement level of an unknown hospital when the heat set in, but Steve was still working through the highest point of his own rut, so their combined capabilities weren’t impressive. “We need a phone, Rogers. Find a phone,” and he offered a pair of pants, “and put these on maybe.”

# STEVE

Steve felt like he was operating in a fog. As if the world itself had been brought into focus through thick white glass. He was seeing everything, and he could feel everything. He could definitely _feel_ everything. He could feel Tony’s skin in perfectly clarity, he could memorize where it was soft and where it was rough and where there were little dips and rises. He could feel how sharply his dick throbbed and how wet and _necessary_ Tony’s mouth had felt.

Maybe that was the difference. Maybe it wasn’t the world that wasn’t in focus but his priorities. Steve hadn’t been through a proper rut since he was a teenager, alone in his apartment, concentrating in equal parts on breathing and fucking his own fist and even that was a pleasant, sunshine memory compared to this.

He was two steps behind Tony on a staircase and it wasn’t just because his dick was _aching_ with want and abuse and _need_ but because it afforded him the pleasing sight and smell of Tony’s ass. Steve had been a fan of Tony’s ass long before he’d been drugged with whatever the fuck this was, but he hadn’t been more than a passing, casual kind of fan. The sort that could have a conversation in a rational way, that could admire and admit flaws and move on. Tony’s ass hadn’t kept him up at night, it hadn’t filled his sketchbooks, it hadn’t consumed his thoughts. 

That was before.

Steve should have been working on how they planned to get past the bad guys (whoever they were, whatever their goal) but his every thought was consumed with kicking himself over how he’d been literal millimeters, literally nanoseconds away from getting his dick into Tony’s perfect ass and he’d--what--

He’d remembered that Tony was doing him one hell of a favor and the desire wasn’t returned. Ruts were terrible things, generally a sign of an immature alpha caught in the throes of puberty, and sometimes a sign of perfect compatibility. There was no way he could ask Tony to just--just bend over--

(But he had asked, and Tony had bent over, and Steve had still fucked it up.)

“You with me, Cap?” Tony asked. It might have been a lewd, hopeful thing to think, but it almost sounded like his voice was strained. It almost looked like his skin was getting pink and pretty and the way he was walking was shifting away from escape to invitation.

(That was bad, Steve wanted to remind himself. That was very bad.)

“Uh,” Steve said (mostly to Tony’s ass), “yes.” He was there as much as he could be, he was present in the moment, but he was daydreaming about repeating that scene from down the stairs one more time but this time with more confidence and less concern. He was imaging how strained Tony’s voice might sound with Steve’s dick in his a-- 

“Look,” Tony said, sharp and quiet, and right into Steve’s face. He was just _there_ invading his space, smelling like gently warming heaven, looking impatient to be obeyed. (That was what Steve liked least about Tony. On a purely primal level, he found Tony’s authority to be the single most obnoxious thing about him. Someone should have told Tony to shut up and nobody ever did. Or if they did, he didn’t really care and kept talking regardless.) “We don’t have a lot of time. We don’t know why we’re here or where here is. We need a phone, Rogers. Find us a phone.”

Right. Find a phone. 

He could find a phone.

“Then we fuck?” he asked.

Tony didn’t sigh, like he had before, he didn’t roll his eyes. He concentrated his stare on Steve’s body, his mouth parted, and his breath got heavier. That delightful smell was growing stronger, and their chances of survival were growing slimmer. “Yeah,” he said all low and deep. “Yeah, find me a phone and we can fuck.”

Steve might have expected more men occupying the landing on the subfloor 1 level, but the whole staircase was empty. There was no smell except the cold walls and the concrete, and there was no sound of footsteps and alarms blaring. It was hopeful (and stupid, and suicidal) to think that whoever had kidnapped and drugged him had just given up.

(Oh well, the nameless bad guy said, guess they got away.)

They crept up the stairs at half speed, both of them working really hard at ignoring how Tony’s priorities were rapidly changing from escape to attracting attention. He wasn’t running, he wasn’t pushing, and he wasn’t frowning at Steve’s advances. No, he was rocking his hips like there was music playing that only his ass could hear, and he was looking over his shoulder every chance he got to be sure Steve was watching.

(They were going to die here, horny and unsatisfied, and it was _stupid_.)

“What if we just had sex here?” Steve asked. “We can find a phone after.”

“I like the way you think,” Tony said. He leaned back against the wall at the base of the ten steps that took them to the main floor. His chest was heaving and his legs were fidgeting, spreading open as that beautiful smell of arousal got heavier. His hands were sliding down his own chest, drawing all the attention down-down- “Fuck,” he gasped to himself, “I _told_ you! I told you that you’d infect me. We have to get to a phone, Steve.”

Right. 

Right.

A phone. He was going to get them to a phone, just in a minute. Just after he ran his hands down Tony’s arms, just after he pinned his hands out to the side, after he kicked open Tony’s legs so all his balance was off kilter. As soon as he finished grinding his dick against Tony’s body, as soon as he remembered they caught in a trap. “You smell so good,” Steve whispered and Tony moaned at the sound of his words, head tipping back, body arching into every touch. “Do all omegas smell this good? God--”

But Tony needed a phone. He’d said that. He needed a phone. Steve groaned behind his clenched teeth and shoved himself away. Tony hissed in disappointment but he followed Steve up the stairs, trying to fix his hair as he went, trying to look like they weren’t covered in cum and smelling like a whorehouse. 

The main floor of the hospital was--

It was just a hospital. There were bored looking patients waiting in chairs, a few employees in cubicles sedately pecking at computers, and a security guard that was standing by the elevators offering the promise of security without actually making any attempt at providing it. In the distance, a child was crying, and somewhere very close someone was carrying a gun that they had recently fired. 

“Shit,” Tony whispered behind him, “if this ends up on TMZ, I’m never going to hear the end of it.” 

Tony had strange worries; Steve had better things to care about. Like how many phones there were in the lobby-- how there was one on each of the employees desks, how every single person in the waiting room seemed to have one, and how there had to be a payphone nearby, around a corner, tucked out of obvious line of sight. He could drag Tony to a payphone and rip his pants off and--

“Maybe we should go up another floor,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, ok,” Tony agreed. Maybe he was leaning his entire weight into Steve’s back, maybe he was grinding against Steve’s ass, maybe his hands had found themselves sliding up Steve’s body to grip at his chest. The point was, he had agreed, and Steve was closer now than ever to finding a phone.

All he had to do was find a phone.

Tony slid backward into the stairwell and Steve followed him, they stumbled into one another (on purpose) and Tony made a show of looking apologetic about it. “How clumsy,” he said like he’d heard it in a porn once, and that must have been why Steve had kissed him. They both knew how that movie ended, and the sooner the actors stopped trying to deliver their lines and work to the strong suits, the better it was for everyone. Tony’s skin was heated, and every noise he made into the kiss was _eager_. One of his hands was curved around Steve’s neck and the other was down his pants--

“Oh my god!” interrupted, and Steve turned his head to catch the retreating back of a blonde woman screaming in outrage. 

“Shit,” Steve whispered.

“What a bitch,” Tony hissed. He didn’t seem to notice (or care, or care to notice) that they had been discovered, and that meant whoever had captured them to start now had a better idea where they were. And that was bad. 

That was very bad.

“Phone,” Steve repeated. He grabbed Tony by the arm and dragged him up the stairs. It was twenty steps to the next floor and he might have actually pulled Tony up the last seven of them without his feet ever touching the floor. They slammed into the door at the top and tumbled through into an empty corner of what appeared to be a waiting room. They knocked into a sign that asked for patience and quiet, and announced itself as a surgical waiting room.

Surgery probably had phones. The floor smelled like blood, and a little bit like death, and there wasn’t anything remotely attractive about it. Steve was willing to overlook the red-red-smell of the hall except a woman in a nice top came around a corner with a friendly customer-service smile and the usual greeting of “Hello and--oh my _God_ ,” and, “wait...aren’t you--”

Tony pulled him left with a gasp of, “elevators have phones,” before they were stumbling into the elevator. That was true, elevators did have phones because people got stuck on elevators that stopped moving. This one wasn’t moving because they hadn’t hit any buttons, and neither of them seemed to really notice that it might be a good idea to add motion to their escape attempt. Tony was all but ripping Steve’s pants off and that had never seemed like as good idea as it did right now. “You better fucking follow through,” Tony hissed at him, he was turning around, hand smacked over the whole control panel. His sweaty fingers hit enough buttons that the elevator had to lurch into action. Steve didn’t care if they were going up or down, or right back to the white-white room where they’d started. 

Maybe he was a virgin, by technicality, but he understood how this was supposed to work. He knew perfectly well, the way all animals did, that his dick was meant to go into Tony’s hole and that was all he needed to know. 

It was wet, and hot, and tight, and _perfect_ even before Tony gasped out unholy blasphemy and all but collapsed in relief. Steve couldn’t have made it last if their life depended on it (so it was best that their lives depended on the opposite). He managed a few sloppy jerks of his hips before he was orgasming, and Tony said, “keep moving,” at him like he should have just _known_.

The elevator doors opened, and there was a brand new mother cradling a newborn in her arms, sitting on the wheelchair they always insisted you leave the hospital in. She was flanked by family members and happy nurses, who up to that moment, had been experiencing a typical day. They were soft smiles up to the exact moment the elevator opened to reveal the unglamorous sight before them. 

“Fuck,” Tony hissed, “never mind, get off.” He jabbed his thumb into the closed door button before anyone could adjust their shock to screams. As soon as he’d wiggled free from Steve’s cock, he was yanking his pants up. His nervous hands were scrubbing at his hair. “It’s wearing off isn’t it?”

Not enough to be considered a relief but enough that Steve could _think_ with a little more clarity. (Just enough that Steve could be impressed and horrified by the wet stain spreading down Tony’s pant leg and how there was a sizable milky puddle on the floor of the elevator. He’d heard Tony’s complaints before but he hadn’t cared.) “A little,” he admitted, “I think I can take it from here.”

“Good,” Tony was nodding, “that’s good, but the next time you put your dick in me, you fucking finish what you started?” He was nodding still, like he had no control over it. Maybe he didn’t, it hadn’t felt like Steve could control anything when this started. 

The elevator doors opened behind them, and aside from a few beeps and boops in the distance, there was no noise and no people to be outraged. Steve yanked his pants up and pushed Tony through the open doors. The hallway was full of open doors and unconscious patients in hospital beds in rooms with the TV playing. Steve pushed Tony down and down and down and around a corner, past a vending machine and into a empty room. The doors were wide and heavy and slapped closed with more force than Steve would have liked. 

“Phone,” he said. Because there was one, a plain white phone at the end of a curly phone cord, sitting on the neatly made bed. “Good, phone. We should call--” someone. They should definitely call someone. They definitely shouldn’t immediately start fucking. They definitely shouldn’t be standing there, looking at one another, with both of them seconds from shoving their pants off. 

“Natasha,” Tony offered. 

“No,” because Natasha was an alpha and she didn’t need to show up and-- “No, you’re right. Natasha.” He couldn’t just refuse to call her because she would try to get her hands on Tony. That wasn’t fair. Steve didn’t have any specific claim on Tony that wasn’t situational. Just because they were here, and horny, and together didn’t mean that Tony owed him--

“Christ,” Tony said again. He had lost his battle with rationality, his pants were on the floor and he was reaching forward to grab Steve by the dick. “We can do both at the same time.” That sounded suspicious, and unlikely but Steve was willing to believe in their potential. 

Tony groaned when Steve sank his dick back into him. His hands were spread across the dimpled blanket on the bed, and his body was shivering with effort. Every one of his breaths was as heavy as steel beams. All that, and still he was squinting at the phone, and dragging it over to start punching buttons. “Get to work, Rogers,” he said.

“Right,” Steve agreed, “good.” He wasn’t sure where one put their hands in situations like this, and he wasn’t entire sure exactly how much of his back he should put it into (so they said), so he rested his hands on Tony’s hips and he started off slow and easy. “You gotta tell me,” he said, “I’m kind of new to--I’m just really strong, Tony, so--”

“Oh my God,” Tony gasped into air, “more than a light breeze, less than kicking a door through the frame, come on Rogers, you’re fucking killing me.” 

The second most annoying thing about Tony was the constant, unnecessary sarcasm he employed. Couldn’t he just give him a straight answer, a general notion of appropriate speed and depth and strength. Tony was a genius, he knew all units of measurement and he was giving bullshit answers about breezes and breaking doors. Steve tightened his grip and fucked forward harder and Tony collapsed into the bed in a way that couldn’t be determined as good or bad.

“What was that?” Steve asked.

“Good!” Tony shouted back at him. “Do it again. Again, come on, do that again.”

Steve was aware that the phone was ringing, and that they were completely vulnerable, and still the only thing that mattered was doing exactly what Tony said. He was slapping their hips together, driving his dick as deep as he could, trying to remember to breath and to pay attention to his surroundings when all he really cared about was--

“Who the fuck is this?” sounded like Natasha. 

Tony had the phone clenched in his fist, but he wasn’t talking to it. He was too busy babbling encouraging nonsense in almost English to realize how close they were to being rescued. Steve leaned forward across his body to grab the phone and Tony’s whole body went tight and hard and even wetter. 

“Was that an orgasm?” Steve asked. (He wouldn’t know, this was all new to him.)

“Steve?” Natasha said from the other end of the phone line. “What the hell is going on--where are you? Was that Tony? Did you say orgasm?”

Tony was too busy doing a great impersonation of soup to offer any guidance on the proper etiquette that followed. Steve straightened up enough to not be laying his body on Tony’s back but he didn’t pull out (just in case he wasn’t supposed to, what with how content Tony looked he wasn’t sure). 

“Yeah,” Steve said into the phone, “I think we were kidnapped, someone drugged me and I,” literally came all over everything and, “infected Tony and we’re at,” he looked around the room, searching for the name of the hospital on anything and finding nothing at all that indicated where they were, “a hospital, and we’re compromised and escape is difficult and--”

“Drugged?” Natasha repeated, “it sounded like you were having sex.”

“We are,” Steve gasped.

“Ok,” Tony mumbled from beneath him, “out, you can pull out now.” He was fighting back up to his feet, looking as incapable of standing as a newborn kitten, and still he motioned impatiently for the phone as if he was the only one capable of using words. Steve gave it to him. “Steve’s in a rut, I’m in heat and we’re at St. S-something’s hospital on the unit with people in vegetative states.”

Of course Tony Stark could be out of his mind with lust and still retain all the important details. Steve was annoyed, but that wasn’t anything new. Tony arched an eyebrow at him and Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Rut?” Natasha repeated.

“Sorry,” Tony said rather than address her skepticism, “that’s all the time we have. We’ll be in room 467 fucking, unless we get captured again.” He dropped the phone to the side in a way that did not necessarily indicate that he understood the situation they were in. “We’re going to break this bed,” sounded as much like a prediction as a challenge. Steve didn’t care which it was, he followed after Tony when he leaned back.

# TONY

A proper heat did not allow one to nod off, and yet there was Tony, waking up in his own bed in Avenger’s Tower, soaking in unanswered sweat from a sex dream about being animalistically ravished by wild eyed men. It was the sort of dream that woke you up with a throbbing need on a good day, but when you’d been rendered unconscious mid-way through a drug-induced heat and left to suffer it felt like he’d been violently kicked in the crotch.

“Tony?” sounded exactly how Steve would sound if he had managed to work off a full-length rut in a matter of hours and had arrived back at rationality with enough time leftover to build up a sense of shame for his behavior. He was also wearing clothes, and sitting on a chair, several feet away from Tony. “You’ve been making all the--”

Tony wasn’t dressed and that was more convenient. He kicked the blanket off as he fell over his own limbs (and the bed) in his effort to get to Steve. His elbow struck the ground with enough force to jar his whole body and it didn’t even register in comparison to how desperately he _needed_. Steve was leaning forward to make sure he was okay, mouth open and words half formed, but Tony didn’t really have any need for him to _talk_. “Pants, off,” he said as he pulled himself up and into Steve’s lap. As far as Tony was concerned it was impolite to sit there, wearing jeans, like a promise hadn’t been made.

“Look, Tony,” Steve started saying. His hands were up in surrender, he was doing a great job acting like he wasn’t going to get involved and he was just there to make sure everything was okay. “Natasha found the guy and--oh,” that was a slap of surprise as Tony closed his hand around Steve’s dick through his impolite jeans. “It’s okay if you don’t want to do this,” Steve finished with very little breath. 

There was probably an excellent, worthwhile, intelligent way to answer that but it was more expedient to pull Steve’s hand down between his thighs and press it up against where he was soaking wet and _ready_. “You promised me,” he said. 

Steve wavered, he waffled, and then he sighed. “Ok,” as if he were being asked to take out the trash during a rainstorm, as if this would be a task that he couldn’t enjoy. As if he didn’t just stand up straight from the chair, carrying Tony like he was nothing, and drop them both on Tony’s bed like a professional. “But we should probably talk about how this is going to affect our working relationship.”

“I think it’s brought us closer together,” Tony said. He wiggled upward so his head was on the pillows as Steve worked his pants down, and look at how close they were at that moment, as together as any two people could possibly be. “See?” he said (and he could smile now, and make jokes, because he had accomplished his body’s sole goal of getting a dick in him), “we’re practically inseparable.”

Steve groaned and it wasn’t sexual, but annoyed, as he shook his head, “look, I’m not going to be able to do this if you’re going to keep doing that. Promise or no promise.”


End file.
